Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies:
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee:
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!”
The Christian Advocate gives two illustrations of the popularity of the hymn,
“God Will Take Care of You”
A blind man was seen crossing the street at a dangerous place in the Bronx, New York City. When a friend approached he saw that the lips of the blind man were moving, and as he listened he heard him singing softly, “God will take care of you.” When the friend made himself known to the blind man he carelessly inquired, “Why are you singing that hymn?” He replied: “The reason is that I must cross this dangerous crossing just ahead of me in about a minute, and I was thinking that possibly one of the many wagons or trucks might strike me and I would get killed. But the thought came to me that even if it did occur my soul would go straight to God. And if He led me across all right it would be just another evidence of His care of me. So I just could not help singing to myself, ‘God will take care of you.’ Hallelujah!”
A young woman who had lost both her husband and little daughter, and was left to support herself in sorrow, took a slip of paper on which was written the song, “God will take care of you,” and pinned it over the place where she did her dishwashing, and testified to the great comfort the song brought to her.
A different kind of testimony, both interesting and exceptional, is given in
A Sexton’s Tribute to a Singer
Traveling amid the great artificial lakes in the Elan Valley, from which Birmingham receives its water supply from the Welsh mountains, the visitor had pointed out to him by the driver a little church on the hillside. The visitor was interested in the “little sanctuary, nestling among the green mountains,” and confessed that he liked to think of places which recall the words, “It’s quiet down here... And God is very near.” Being a newspaper man, however, he was particularly impressed by a somewhat garbled version of the time when Dame Clara Butt sang in the little building. Later, in London, he had the opportunity of hearing the story from Dame Clara Butt herself. She was motoring with some friends through the valley beyond Llandrindod Wells and espied this simple and tiny church, without spire or tower, standing alone on the hillside. It seemed so like a little private sanctuary that she exclaimed, “I wish that little church were mine!” and halted the car, and crossed the river to have a closer look.